Waking Up
by CantansAvis
Summary: AU. Tony Stark wakes up from a 3-month coma. He wakes up and finds that he's dreamt everything up. He was still found in Afghanistan. He still built the Iron Man prototype. But no one found it. He's not Iron Man. There are no Avengers. There was no invasion. So life goes on. Nothing's changed. But there are a few familiar faces, familiar strangers... where has he seen them before?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** For old readers, look, I'm _not_ dead! For new readers, hi! *enthusiastic wave*

And for those of you who are bored and might be interested, I am starting up a deviantART account under CantansAvis.

Updates for this story will occur at least once a week (hopefully, most likely, it's summer anyways, etc.).

* * *

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he felt like his lungs were trying to crawl out of his chest, clawing, begging for oxygen, for anything really. They just wanted some sort of relief.

"Doctor Smith! He's not breathing!"

He wondered if his body would just be floating in space. Would it decay normally? Or would he be some sort of space mummy?

"C'mon! One, two, three. One, two, three..."

Tony ignored the urge to clutch his chest. He felt like someone was trying to use his ribcage like a drum set and some stupid pigeon got stuck inside, panicking, fluttering. He thought of Pepper.

"He's going into cardiac arrest! The AED!"

He thought about his team. Hm. And he was just starting to like them. Even Rogers. He looked at the empty space, the recent explosion a forgotten memory in the unforgiving darkness. The stars looked so cold.

"Tony? Oh my god, Tony!"

Pepper?

* * *

Ugh. Did death actually smell like a hospital? He was dead already, did it have to be sterile? Geez, Death sure had some problems.

"He's awake!" someone whispered excitedly. Someone else was trying to suppress some squealing. Pepper? He'd just saved the world. She couldn't be dead!

Wait. The hum. The hum that only _he_ could hear, that only _he_ could feel. The arc reactor. _Was it- No, it couldn't be…_ Tony reached towards his chest, feeling a slight resistance. Something was in his arm and hand. _What the hell? _He went to pull it out, only to feel a pair of familiar hands stop him.

"Tony?" He struggled to open his eyes to put a face to the voice, rubbing them with the hand that wasn't attached to… an IV? He was alive? Tony looked around the room. Mostly white and sterile, except for some flowers, stuffed bears, and cards on the table next to him. Mostly generic. He tried to ignore the disappointment curling in his stomach, settling down comfortably like a cat. He thought maybe his team might have added something more intimate. Even one of those stupid exploding messages that started with, "Your mission, if you choose to accept it…" That would've been nice.

What about Pepper? She could've added something nice. Something cute. Or badass. Or something that was both. Like her.

"Tony?" His eyes roved towards the voice. Virginia "Pepper" Potts. There was concern scribbled all over those blue irises. Her hair was up, stacked on her head messily. Like before, when she was his PA.

"Pepper?" He croaked. He saw the flash of confusion before the elated squeal and attempted hug. "Ow, Pep, I kind of hurt all over." Yeah, _all_ over. Something was wrong.

"What happened?" Tony asked as he searched her eyes for some sort of answer. But something was different. She wasn't the Pepper he left that night to go inadvertently run into a Norse god. She wasn't' the Pepper he tried calling in the abyss of space. She was Pepper the PA. As Tony struggled to keep down his panic and a sense of _wrongwrongwrong_, he heard a familiar voice cut through the air.

"You don't remember?" Rhodey flashed a sad smile as he approached the bed. "Of course you wouldn't. That little thing in your chest was good-" Tony reached toward the strangely silent area. He found bandages and gauze. "But not good enough. You just collapsed. Doctors had to operate quickly."

Tony tried to swallow his disappointment. He had made _improvements_, it had worked almost _perfectly_.

"... But what can you expect from a box of scrap in some damp cave in the desert?" _Wait, what?_

"What's today's date?" No, it couldn't be. It had been years since Afghanistan. It couldn't...

Pepper gently placed a hand on his arm. "Tony..." She was reluctant.

"What's the date?" _Nonono... it can't be... no..._

"August 13, 2008."

Three months. A little over three _months. You __got to be kidding._

"No, Tony. We're not." Pepper gave him a sad little smile. A pitying smile.

"But we just, I mean, there was, so…" Pepper patted him on the shoulder. He hated it. He had just helped save the world. There had been alien invasions and copycat Iron man suits and magic and did he mention aliens? It just couldn't…

"Okay, okay, freak out Stark while he's defenseless. Oh so funny guys." He cracked a desperate smile. They just had to be lying.

"So where's the camera? It should be fairly obvious, but then again you have Rhodey. But last time he tried to do something involving _me_…" Tony stopped when he didn't see Happy about to crack up. Happy could never hide a prank. _Ever_. It was impossible.

So it was true. It had only been a little over three months since he got back from Afghanistan.

Tony didn't even try to hide his devastation. They would think he was just horrified about losing three months. Not years. Not a wonderful relationship. Not a team that he felt he would get close to, eat shawarma with, hell maybe even live with. Wait...

"When did I, er, pass out?" _Please let me still have the suit, be Iron Man..._

"After the plane landed."

_Crap._

* * *

Tony hated pretty much everything at the moment. The doctor was looking over him more scrupulously than any SHIELD- wait, he'd made that up. There was no SHIELD. He gave a low, bitter chuckle. At least Phil Coulson didn't die.

"Hm. He's seems to be in better condition than before he came in." Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. _Obviously_.

The doctor decided to ignore him. _Smart move, doc._ "He looks to be in the best condition of his _life_." Tony tried to be nonchalant, but noticed the doctor's smug smile. _Hmph. Well, it's surprisingly good news for a man who was in a coma, lost everything he had just got a grip on, and oh, his best friends are an AI and some robots._ He ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his mind, that maybe, _maybe_, there was a tinge of truth in his hazy dreamworld. Maybe there was magic. Maybe there was someone who remembered, who was watching.

"He can leave as soon as the nurses remove the equipment from him," he addressed the group of Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy beside Tony. Geez, was he eight? Tony Stark was a full-grown man, with a brain and ears. He blamed his past. Everyone still thought he was some sort of idiot savant, some playboy, someone who couldn't care for himself, let alone anyone else.

The doctor motioned for Pepper to come next to him. "Make sure to bring him back if he's not doing well." Pepper nodded solemnly. It was official. Tony Stark was an eight-year-old boy who couldn't take care of himself. He fought the urge to stick out his tongue.

Tony laid back down, plastering a smile on his face. Rhodey smiled back, slightly confused by the smile that didn't quite reach Tony's eyes. "I've got to head back to base. Pepper and Happy will make sure you get home." Tony wanted to scream. "I'll catch up later." He patted Tony on the shoulder. _Oh. My. God. I need to be in my lab and start fiddling things or I swear, someone's losing a hand or foot or something. _Tony briefly thought of Natasha. _Stop it, stupid brain_.

"I'm going to start the car, Mr. Stark," Happy said before following Rhodey, also giving Tony a pat. _Argh!I swear, I will _never _pat my children in this patronizing manner_. _They will be treated like the bratty little geniuses I know they will be_.

"Tony, I'll be back soon, I got to sign you out." She kissed him on the forehead before leaving the room. He missed her. He grinned a bit when the nurse entered the room. _Yes! Freedom!_

* * *

As soon as Tony got dressed and used to walking (_whoa, I bet this is what a new baby horse feels like_), he made a dash for the most discreet exit. He could go home later. He needed to clear his head.

Tony climbed up two floors and then took the elevator down three. Couldn't be too cautious. He found an old fire escape at the dead end of some empty hallway. He peeked out the window. Only seven stories up. He could do this. He opened the window. Hm. No alarms. Or at least, no loud, obnoxious ones.

The metal creaked under his weight. Well, he _hoped_ he could do this. Tony went down as fast as he could go without tripping (_I wish I had taken up those training sessions with Rogers- dammit! Stop, brain!_), metal announcing his escape to the thankfully empty street.

As Tony hopped down onto the sidewalk, legs still wobbling, he glimpsed hospital security around the corner. _Damn_. He turned away from them and quickly rounded the next corner. Dead end. Well, they hadn't noticed him...

"Hey! I think he went this way!" _Double damn_. Tony awaited his capture and then quietly snickered as they ran past. He counted to 315 by sevens before cautiously and _so_ inconspicuously walking out of the alley. He spotted a coffee shop directly across from him. _Oh thank whatever force has been totally screwing up my life for finally having a bit of mercy_.

He ran across the street and barged in, the little bell ringing violently.

"Whoa, there. Looks like someone needs their coffee fix a bit early." Tony glanced at the clock, purple with white lettering, and found it was early afternoon. He circled, looking over his surroundings. Hm. Empty. _I guess I am early_.

"And not a minute too late." The barista chuckled. This wasn't the first time someone came in completely dazed, desperately in need of caffeine and sugar. "What can I get for you?"

Tony finally swiveled to face the man. _Holy…_

"Sir?" _Geez, this guy really needs a cup._ The man started to brew a fresh pot.

Tony "casually" walked up to the counter and glanced at the man's name tag. And then his face.

Back to the name tag. And then his face.

He was being served coffee by Clint Barton.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sir?" Clint Barton was a bit perturbed by the man staring at him. He could be crazy, extremely caffeine-deprived, or both. Clint really hoped it wasn't both. He could only handle that once a week, when Nick came in raving about… something.

The man shook his head with a quick jerk, like he'd had a bad dream or disturbing thought. Or a flea on his nose. That was also plausible. He smiled, fortunately not in the crazy axe-murderer way.

"'Sir' is what my AI butler calls me. It's weird when people I don't particularly hate call me that. Call me Tony." He stuck out his hand and Clint grabbed it in a wary handshake. The gears turned and ground in Clint's head as he tried to place that face to a name, a full name. _Wait…_

"Tony Stark?"

"Yup." Tony let the "p" pop and discreetly lit up with glee. _Please tell me I'm not crazy. That I was actually knocked out and am now currently being played by my diabolical friends. I don't want to be where the Avengers don't exist and I'm not Iron Man and wow, where Stane is _alive_, and..._

"Oh."

As Tony remembered, there were two kinds of _oh_s in his life before Iron Man: _oh, you're rich and famous_ and _oh, you make weapons and are kind of a dick_.

Clint's _oh_ seemed to lean toward the latter. And was absolutely, 100% not joking. Tony wasn't sure how good an agent like Barton was supposed to be, but from what he heard (well, eavesdropped) from Natasha was that if he was in on a prank, his eyes couldn't help but crinkle just the teeny-tiniest bit.

She and Coulson had been reminiscing on the helicarrier as if Barton was already dead.

Well, he wasn't.

And he wasn't a SHIELD agent. He didn't know Agents Romanoff or Coulson. And he only knew Tony Stark through the news and tabloids. Great.

_This is the worst day of my life_.

* * *

Clint's face softened as he looked at Tony, seemingly deflated, slouching over the counter as he plopped on a bar stool. "Hey." Tony looked up like a forlorn puppy. Clint just wanted to hug him and feed him ice cream, if that's what would make him less like a sad puppy.

He slid a mug of coffee, dark, with just a hint of cream and sugar. Tony Stark looked like the kind of guy who didn't want that crappy, creamy stuff that made Clint almost cry every time he had to make one. Tony looked at him, confusion etched in his worn out face. _For such a carefree billionaire, he sure looks… tired._ "It's on the house." Tony was about to shake his head when Clint insisted, "Really. Just tell me, Stark, how on earth you a) manage your facial hair, b) chose my little cafe, and c) changed from that man I've seen in the news and tabloids."

Tony smiled and stuck a ten in the tip jar, despite Clint's half-hearted glare. He sat back up and sipped at the coffee, eyes widening in surprise. "Wow. That's a good cup of coffee." Clint nodded solemnly; the statement was fact. Tony brightened up even more, SHIELD agent or barista, Clint Barton was still Clint Barton. Or at least, the Clint Barton Natasha and Phil knew and Tony heard about.

"Now, as for the goatee…" Tony stroked his hairy chin. Clint smiled. He thought he could get along with this Stark guy after all.

* * *

It was around five o'clock and after Tony's third panini and Clint's sixth muffin (hey, it _was_ his cafe) when Tony realized he would have to go home eventually. To a raging Pepper. Oof.

"Well, I got to go. Got a mad PA and a couple of worried AIs to report to." Tony stuck out his hand, which Clint grabbed readily. He then grabbed an old order form and scribbled something as Tony stood up and stretched his legs.

Clint haphazardly folded the paper and handed it to Tony. "In case you need someone to talk to you. Or you forget where this little place is. Or you know, want to give me free food. Free food is very nice. I like a good hamburger."

"You'll get it. If Pepper doesn't, well, kill me." Tony shrugged as he tucked the paper into his pocket, a sense of dread settling in his stomach, icy and almost overpowering. It took him everything not to break down and cling to Clint's leg like a three-year old being forced into preschool.

Clint patted him on the shoulder. "You just got back. I'm sure she won't _kill_ you." He smiled sympathetically. "She'll just maim you so that you can't randomly disappear without her knowing."

Tony swallowed his dread. "Yeah, probably."

Clint pointed at Tony's pocket. "Call me if you're grounded." He smiled. Tony waved as he left, the bells over the door ringing like a death knell.

He had to go back. And going back meant that his old reality, his old world, was truly gone. He'd be walking in the darkness, with nothing to guide him but the light of his arc reactor, his beating heart. But hey, he'd know where to start.

* * *

Tony walked home, thinking that the walk might clear his mind. By the time he faced the lit house, he felt like a teenager coming back past curfew and his mind was still muddled. He approached the door, hand up to knock, but it opened, revealing a glaring Pepper Potts. Yeah, this wasn't going to be fun.

She moved aside, letting Tony enter, eyes caught in a squint as she seethed. Tony stepped through the doorway, silence prevailing. Even Jarvis knew who was in charge. Pepper pointed to the couch. Tony sat down, wringing his hands in his lap like a kid in the principal's office.

"Where the hell have you been?" It was calm, calculated. Tony wanted to run. Pepper tapped her foot impatiently. _C'mon, Stark. You've bullshitted your way through plenty of meetings, confrontations, and arguments. _

But that was before.

And before, it was never Pepper.

"I've been… out." _Wow, how eloquent_.

Pepper was exasperated, the calm cracking as her eyes slightly widened and jaw dropped by the smallest amount. "Out _where_?"

"At a cafe." Might as well be honest.

"A cafe."

Pepper raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. "A cafe?"

_Geez, couldn't a guy get a cup of joe after a three-month coma?_

"We have coffee here, Tony."

_Oh. Talking out loud_. "It's… complicated."

Pepper's other eyebrow followed the first. "It's coffee." She couldn't quite get over simplistic single sentences.

"It was a lot to take in, you know, being abducted and waterboarded and having a pile of scrap implanted into my chest and getting shot at and being forced to build weapons to be used upon thousands of innocent lives and getting shot at some more with an explosion here and there and then watching your friend die-"

He'd said too much. Way too much. Pepper had that face again; but this time, it was less pity. It was just… sad.

She sat down beside Tony, pulling his head onto her shoulder. It was a gesture so foreign, so familiar; Tony didn't quite know which reality he was in. But he didn't care.

All he knew was that he was awake and felt so much older.

* * *

Yinsen had said he had everything and nothing. Before- well, _now_, he guessed- he could have any material thing he could desire. He had fame and fortune. But very few friends. No family. No love. Just a gaping hole that no amount of time in the workshop could fix.

Then he had _everything_. _Everything_ didn't just live in fairy tales or in the smiles of children. He was broken, but he had a chance of being fixed.

Now it was so much worse. He still had everything and nothing, but _nothing_ was just overwhelming, like black paint splashed across his coma-induced dream.

Tony felt like nothing.

* * *

His nose stung with the scent of copper, of metal. He couldn't tell it it was because he was bleeding or if the giant metal whale he was inside just reeked of that familiar metallic scent. He hoped he could get out of this one. Dying inside an alien space whale was not on his list of fun ways to die. He felt the heat growing in his palms… before the light slowly died out.

"Jarvis! Jarvis, I -"

"Good morning, sir. We're all glad to have you back."

_Right. "Back."_

"Glad to hear you, Jarv." Tony stumbled out of bed, the tangled sheets appearing to be attempting to kill him as he swore and fumbled to get to the kitchen- more precisely, the coffeemaker.

"The current time is 11:09. The weather today…" Tony let his AI ramble. It was what Jarvis was programmed to do. Tony, on the other hand, deliberated on the probability of his desperate need for caffeine being programmed into his DNA. Psh. Biology. He could always ask Bruce- Oh. Wait. Never mind.

As he huffed the sweet, sweet scent of brewing coffee, a sudden, painful realization hit Tony. "Jarv, what did you just say?"

"Ms. Potts is expecting you at Stark Industries and Mr. Hogan will be picking you up at 12:30."

Tony wanted to whine and cry and crawl back into bed. But he knew Pepper would just drag him out and to Stark Industries. Oh crap, he had to make a public statement today, didn't he? _Argh._

Well, he'd do his best to avoid it.

* * *

Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly.

Pepper made sure Happy checked in with her when he arrived at Tony's house, when Tony got in the car, and every third red stoplight on the way to Stark Industries.

According to Happy, Tony was completely genial, well-dressed, not whining or complaining. He didn't even _try_ to escape by bribing Happy to let him out or asking to go to the bathroom or jumping out of the sunroof (ugh, Pepper did not enjoy that particular day). Pepper knew that Happy was incapable of lying. Well, at least to her. She was Pepper Potts, PA of the notorious Tony Stark. Only trained, government agents could successfully lie to her.

And being PA of the notorious Tony Stark allowed her to sense that something was completely and utterly wrong. Tony was _scheming_. Good behavior meant a bad day for Pepper Potts. So when Happy called, panicked and stuttering, she felt a strange combination of dread and relief. Her day was going to be hell, but at least she knew it was coming.

* * *

Tony tried to recall every spy movie, good and horrendous, that he had ever seen as he quickly walked through the halls of Stark Industries. Turning around, doubling back, _tripling_ back, going up two flights of stairs, taking the elevator down three levels and going up one more flight of stairs on the opposite side of the building. If Happy and the rest of security weren't confused, then Tony sure was. As he passed the sleek doors, he wondered where he was. He should install more signs in this area. Or come to work more often. Both were unlikely scenarios.

"I think he went this way…"

"You _think_? The guy's just got out of a three-month coma, I think you can do better than _think_."

"But this guy's Tony Stark. Tony Stark out of a three-month coma is still two times smarter than the average person."

_Two? I would say at least three, Mr. Security Guard_. Tony quickly slipped into the nearest unlocked door, hoping no one would notice.

"Sir? Do you have the clearance to be here?"

_Crap._ "I should think so," Tony said, turning towards the meek-sounding voice. "I do own this… company…"

Fortunately for Tony, Bruce Banner was too busy being flustered to notice Tony's mini panic attack.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you all for the faves, follows, and reviews so far! Authors love feedback. ;) Also, I lied about updates on _Unforgivable_. Mainly because I'm stuck on the second chapter. Sorry!

* * *

Okay, Clint Barton had been a coincidence. But Bruce Banner was the universe laughing in his face. Tony resisted the urge to curl into a ball and start muttering, because he wasn't crazy. Or at least, he wouldn't be telling anyone he was anytime soon.

"Dr. Banner, what exactly are the terms of your employment here at Stark Industries?" Tony glossed over Bruce's previous babblings, consisting mainly of apologies and science jargon.

"To, um, aid in the research of gamma radiation and its uses."

_Hm. More nervous and antsy. So no Hulk. Well, of course there's no Hulk, Tony. That was all in the dream. _

"What was that, sir?" Tony froze, realized he had just muttered his last thought out loud.

_Crap_. "Nothing. Just a reminder to myself. And call me Tony. 'Sir' is for people like-" Tony paused for a moment, realizing he was about to say, "Coulson or Fury."

"...my father." _Lame, Tony. So lame._

Bruce nodded, still nervous. Tony looked around, finding no one else in the room. "You work alone, Banner?"

"I have assistants, but I stay late or come when I'm not really scheduled to come in because…" Bruce looked sheepish, not sure how to behave in front of his boss, the infamous Tony Stark.

"Because of the science. I knew I hired you for a reason, Banner!" Tony clapped the man on the back. Bruce relaxed slightly. At least his boss wasn't as crazy as they said.

"Now, I know a bit about gamma radiation. Could I assist you for today?" Tony smiled, wide and mischievous.

Okay, maybe he was crazy. But as Bruce looked at that smile, he knew it was a good kind of crazy. The kind of crazy that got science done. He smiled back, hoping nothing would explode today.

* * *

"We have a minor explosion in Lab 12."

The security guard reached for the transceiver and answered with a sly smile. "I am on it."

He knew where Tony Stark was. And he won the bet he had made with the others that he would be the one to find him.

As he strolled towards Lab 12, he wondered what he could do with an extra $500.

* * *

"That was frickin' awesome!" Tony laughed as he helped a groaning Bruce off the floor.

"Tell that to my back." Bruce gently shoved Tony. He had grown more familiar with the man within the last half hour. (Wow, they made a minor explosion within only thirty minutes.) He wasn't like anything the tabloids or papers made him out to be. Not even like what Pepper and Happy griped about. Then again, Bruce assumed, Tony the Scientist was probably a lot better (and more natural) than Tony the Forced Businessman and Household Name.

Tony spun around, looking like an overactive puppy chasing its tail. Bruce chuckled before Tony asked, "So, what'd we break?"

Bruce took a cursory glance around. A few scorch marks here and there, but nothing serious. "Not much." He grinned. "Anyway, you're the one paying for it."

Tony stuck out his tongue and then opened his mouth to say something when the door slammed open and a booming voice called out, "Mr. Stark, your presence is requested by Ms. Potts."

Bruce groaned. "Aw, c'mon, Thor. We were just having a bit of fun."

* * *

Tony wasn't sure how many frickin' familiar faces he could take within twenty-four hours. He watched as Bruce tried to convince the all too familiar blonde man to let Tony stay a little longer, like a kid who didn't want his playdate to end. He felt numb, the voices faded and the image foggy. What had his life come to?

"Mr. Stark? I would not like to use bodily force to bring you upstairs." Tony shook his his head, attempting to clear it.

"Sorry, Brucie. My doom calls." Thor rolled his eyes as Bruce sighed in resignation, waving his broom in a farewell.

As they left the lab, Thor addressed the sneaky scientist, "Do not attempt to escape, Mr. Stark, or you will find out the premise of my employment." Tony wasn't sure whether to be afraid or to roll his eyes. Instead he did what he would usually never do: shut up.

After a few tense minutes of Thor practically dragging Tony around while trying to remember how to get back to the main lobby, the silence ended abruptly as a cell phone rang sharply. Thor pulled a steel grey flip phone (_Update, musclepants?)_ and glanced at the caller ID. His grip tightened on the device before he gave a sharp sigh and answered the phone.

"What did he do now?" Tony's ear perked up. He never thought such a harsh tone could come from a softball like Thor. Well, he had _technically_ been a Norse god, prince of Asgard. In addition, he wasn't actually Thor, Norse god of thunder and lightning.

"Yeah, I'll pick him up around five?" Another loud sigh. "Really? Okay, I'll be there before two." He snapped the phone shut and gave another huff.

"Trouble in paradise?" Tony asked, wincing as Thor glared mini-Mjolnirs at him. "Just askin'. It sounds like this happens often."

Thor sighed. (_Man, whatever this is is seriously bad_.) "It is my brother." _Of course_. "Got himself arrested. Again. Over some stupid prank. Again."

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"What's his name?"

"Loki." (_Of course._)

"What did he do?"

"Oh, he just has this whole trickster thing about him. He vandalizes here and there, fools the local traffic cop, aggravates old ladies trying to walk across the street…Today he skipped school and stole a rent-a-cop's segway. He has been this way ever since he found out he was adopted." Thor's mouth pressed itself into a thin line. He'd said too much. Way too much. To the head of Stark Industries, no less.

Tony remembered the sadness in coma Thor's eyes when he had to fight his brother. The complete and utter devastation for not just a poor, lost soul, but his lost and lonely baby brother. Real Thor looked the same. Tony patted Thor on the back, not quite sure how to comfort the man.

"It'll be alright. Just, just talk to him. And don't do it in a 'why do you keep screwing up' tone. I know you probably don't think you do that, but you probably do. Just… try to understand him."

Thor gave a suspicious, sideways glance at the CEO. This was not the man he had expected to find. He was looking for some arrogant child who was ingenious but immature. He was looking for the man Pepper, Happy, Colonel Rhodes, and the entire R&D department complained about. Not this one.

Thor gave a curt nod and Tony was relieved to find a small softening in the man's blue eyes.

"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Stark."

"Just call me Tony."

With a small smile, Thor simply nodded again as he pressed the elevator button and the sleek steel doors opened. As he gestured towards the inside he said once again, "Mr. Stark."

Tony rolled his eyes as he walked into the elevator. Thor gave a low chuckle as he pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. Tony's head cocked in confusion.

"The sixteenth floor? Pepper's office (well, mine technically) is on the twenty-fifth. The sixteenth floor is…"

"Hello Mr. Stark."

Tony glared at Thor's chuckles as he tried to hide behind the large man, avoiding the cool, green gaze of Natasha Romanoff, head of the Stark Industries PR department.


	4. Chapter 4

_Really? Really, universe, really? _Four _familiar faces in less than twenty-four hours. Thanks._

As Tony glared at the ceiling he deemed as the "universe," Natasha pointed towards the chair, which looked quite stiff and uncomfortable, in front of her glossy black desk. "Have a seat, Mr. Stark."

_Play it cool, Tony. Play it cool. _"Sure thing, Ms. Romanoff." Natasha slightly raised an eyebrow at this unusual calm, rationality, and lack of fear from Tony Stark. Usually the whiny ass would be bawling, complaining, eyes shifting about the room searching for weapons and/or escape routes. In short, Tony Stark _hated_ the PR department.

In her subtle surprise, Natasha voiced her observation, "You're rather well-behaved today, Mr. Stark."

Tony flashed an only semi-reluctant smile and replied, "Please, call me Tony."

_More congenial too, I see_. "Well then, _Tony_, you know that we have a bit of a situation on our hands." Natasha almost smirked when she saw Tony twitch a little as he resisted an eye roll.

"Oh, you mean that I've woken up from a three month coma in the picture of perfect health? Or that there are _my_ weapons being used against innocent people in places like Gulmira?" Natasha frowned slightly at the cutting tone but was relieved in the fact that Tony Stark was more competent than she was led to believe.

"Both. We are going to hold a press conference in…" Natasha glanced at the minimalist spider clock her ex bought her. He had been great, really. But their relationship just didn't feel… real. "Half an hour. I'm going to give you a set of notecards. _Use them_." Tony could see how he imagined Natasha as a dangerous, downright terrifying assassin. Her hair seemed to flare up with a certain dangerous fire. Her eyes, capable of looking straight into the soul and tearing it apart while the victim just smiled, were piercing as she leaned over with her lithe body. Tony was almost scared. Almost.

Tony got up from his uncomfortable chair, legs screeching against the polished wood. "I'll go to this press conference, _Natasha_. But this is _my_ company. I won't use the cards. I don't care if you're concerned about how I make this company look because I make this company _work_."

To Tony's surprise (and slight chagrin as he felt that he had made the beginnings of a very dramatic exit), Natasha Romanoff smiled. He was baffled, baffled enough to blurt, "What? What are you so damn happy about?" Natasha grinned a little wider, all teeth. Like a shark.

"Because I have a CEO who I can depend on and…" He eyes shifted warily about the office, as if they were being watched. She leaned closer to Tony. "Is someone I can _trust_."

Before, Tony would've considered her somewhat paranoid, kind of crazy. But now… having that niggling feeling that Obadiah Stane was evil, Tony was empathetic. He gave a smile to Natasha before departing with a "See you in half an hour!" and a wave.

* * *

Tony had always hated dealing with reporters. Paparazzi. Journalists. Whatever you called them, to Tony Stark they were mostly (there were the special exceptions) loud and annoying and blinding him with their camera flashes. As he stood in front of the expectant group, the people expecting the same old Tony Stark who would just hand them the dirt and lines they could twist into a scandal, he smiled. "Hey, it's only been a day or so since I've been out of the hospital, so could we all just, you know, sit down?"

Tony sat on the ground in front of the podium, smirking as he watched all the professionals in their suits and pencil skirts sit down in front of him. "Okay, we can be a little casual today. But please, let's avoid all the overlapping questions until I'm done." He gave his audience a knowing look. They nodded in reply.

"Okay, great. As you all know and were ecstatic about yesterday, I've woken up and recovered from a three-month coma. I thought everyone was joking about it when I woke up but learned I was wrong. I had lived in a dream world for those three months. I don't actually remember that much, but I knew it was better than the reality I woke up in. I woke up and found that trail of stupidity and irresponsibility behind me. I woke up and found that my weapons were being used against innocent people for the last few months. I woke up with the horrible realization that maybe no one would ever take me seriously. I know for a fact that most of you here don't."

Tony felt a sort of bittersweet victory as many of the reporters looked down or away from him.

"This press conference was called for me to make a statement. A statement on my health and how the company will be moving forward. They wanted me to use a set of notecards. Notecards that say that I would need a few more month's rehabilitation. That I leave Obadiah Stane, my mentor, as temporary CEO. That we're not double dealing under the table. That the situation out there is reaching stability. But I'm here to say otherwise. I'm here to act as CEO of my company. I'm here to investigate the corruption that's been under my drunk nose this whole time. I'm here to help the people I inadvertently hurt. I'm here to, effective immediately, shut down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International and I'm here to stay."

Tony got up from the floor and momentarily thought he was in the clear as he passed two rows of reporters in silence. However, being the candid journalists they are, they hopped up and swarmed the man with a variety of questions that, for once, he didn't mind answering.

* * *

"Tony, what the hell was that?" Obadiah Stane was not a happy man at the moment. Well, he hasn't been a happy man since he learned that Tony Stark was still alive and well. But now the situation was worse. The bald man turned towards Natasha, who was looking at Tony with a slight smile.

"What happened to the cards?" he hissed.

Natasha gave a nonchalant shrug. "Forgot them, I guess."

"You guess? _You guess?_ Why you little-" Stane was bright red and furious at the bold PR manager. But he bit back his insult and threat as he caught Tony's stare. He smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of his suit. "We'll be having a discussion about your position in the company later."

"No you won't."

Stane stared at Tony. "What?"

"I said, no, you won't. This is, as I've had to repeat many times today, _my _company. Natasha Romanoff is an amazing PR manager. She's staying. Well, actually, now she's leaving to accompany me to an early dinner." He offered an arm to Natasha. With barely a hint of surprise, she took it and as they walked out of the room, she turned her head and gave the stunned Obadiah Stane a mocking wink.

* * *

"Never thought I would see you in a place like this, Stark." Natasha took another glance around the diner. It was an old dive, homey and very contradictory to the Tony's business suit.

"It's one of my favorite places to eat. Great food, great price, great people, and my dad avoided this place at all costs. Basically, the ideal place for an angsty, rebellious teenager." Tony smiled in his nostalgia. Before Natasha could reply, there was a shout across the room.

"Hey! Tony!" Clint shouted from the entrance. He gave a big wave before approaching the spacious booth the pair was seated in and scooting in, next to Natasha. He gave her a little wave, a little smile, and a little "Hi there." She decided to simply smile back. She was in a good mood. (In any other case, she probably, at best, would give him an indifferent glance.)

The barista turned towards Tony. "Small world, huh?"

Tony grinned. "Sure is. You still want that hamburger?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mr. Stark! I didn't know you ate here!" Thor, with Bruce and a lanky, dark-haired teen in tow, came toward the booth.

"Thor, I thought I told you to call me Tony."

As Bruce sat next to Tony, Thor grinned and said, "I know, Mr. Stark." He motioned to the awkward looking teen next to him who was internally debating whether to sit next to Bruce or Clint. He sat next to Bruce. "This is my brother, Loki."

The kid gave that apathetic wave that all kids give to Tony and the others before continuing a discussion with Bruce. Thor slid in next to Clint. "Hello, my name's Thor." He stuck out a hand which Clint took firmly.

"Clint."

"Clint, is that short for anything?" Natasha asked.

As Clint muttered "Clinton," Thor boomed, "And Natasha! You're here too!"

Natasha smiled at the security guard. "Yes, I like burgers and fries too, Thor."

"Well, that's great ma'am, because that's the bulk of our menu." The group looked towards the voice and Tony tried not to scream.

"My name's Steve, and I'll be your server tonight."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update! Be forewarned: there are troubling signs of writer's block in my brain. But I am quite determined to continue this story.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for the lack of updates. Writer's block is evil. Writing actual plot for longer stories is also difficult. Come to think of it, I've only had only two other long plot-centric stories. (Don't read them, please. They're sad and show all the signs of an overeager tween.) I am determined to update more consistently. I will be back next week. Enjoy the double update!

**N.B.** Sam has been working at the diner longer than Steve. Sam is quite acquainted with our resident genius.

* * *

Steve looked… smaller. Skinnier. Not as bulky as dream Steve had been. _Pre-serum Steve, wait, there is no serum, stupid. _Tony shook his head slightly. He was getting so confused. Steve's eyebrows scrunched in concern. (It was totally _not_ adorable, as Tony was trying to convince himself.) "Are you okay, sir?"

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, just havin' a rough week." Tony looked at a spot above Steve's head.

Steve flashed him a smile. "Don't worry, Sam's burgers will fix that in a jiffy." He took the rest of the group's orders before returning to the kitchen with a wave and a "be right back."

"You okay, Tony?" Clint reached out to the inventor. "You like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh? Steve just, um, reminds me of someone my dad knew…" Tony couldn't crack. No, not now with all them looking, and staring, and _concerned_. He plastered on a smile that only Natasha knew. The one for press conferences and uncomfortable meetings. Tony ignored her looks as the others relaxed.

Natasha kicked Tony under the table. He was surprised at her accuracy. There were a _lot_ of legs under that thing. He shrugged. _Later, _he mouthed. She lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, turning to listen to Clint's story about some neighborhood thugs.

"…And hopefully, they won't come back any time—ooh! Milkshakes!" Like a wild five-year-old, Clint pointed excitedly at the tray of drinks that Steve was trying not to drop as he laughed.

"Let's see, a chocolate for Thor, strawberry for Ms…?"

Natasha smiled. "Just call me Natasha."

Steve grinned back as he handed the cup to her. "Strawberry for Natasha. Vanillas for Bruce and Loki, chocolate for… wow, sorry, I haven't met you yet." Steve gave the drink to Tony with an apology and anticipation etched in his eyes.

"Tony. Thanks for the shake." He gave a weary smile to the not-so-super-soldier. Steve smiled back and Tony could swear he saw _something_ like recognition flash across his face.

"Well, looks like that's it."

Clint glared at the grinning waiter. "There's still one left." He pointed to the chocolate-strawberry-vanilla-topped-with-whip-cream-and-almonds-only-for-Clint shake on the tray.

"Oh, this?" Steve pointed to the drink. Clint nodded darkly. "This is for another table." Clint continued to glare. Steve turned around and started to walk back towards the kitchen.

"C'mon Steve!" The door swung back and forth in forlorn rejection. Clint was ready to shove Thor out of the booth and run into the kitchen when Steve and another man came out with a tray full of plates and Clint's shake.

"I heard there was a whiny little boy in the Stark party, and I guess you're it, Barton." He began to hand Clint's shake to him before snatching it from the reach of the waiting hands. "What do you say?"

Clint gawked at him. "Really? Now?" The man nodded. Clint grumbled, "Please?"

"Sure thing, little boy." He winked at the rest of the group. "For those of you who don't know, name's Sam." He looked towards Tony. His smile softened. "Nice to see you again, Tony."

Tony smiled back. "You too, Birdbrain."

"Birdbrain, why did you just, I, just-" As Sam stuttered, Steve looked over at the billionaire.

"Birdbrain?"

"It's a long story involving my robot named Dummy, a roof, about six to ten falcons, and Sam." Tony left it at that as he plucked a fry from his plate. The others stared at him. Sam was still sputtering nonsense.

"Falcons?" Tony nodded at the befuddled waiter.

"Six to ten."

Steve pushed Thor lightly. "Scooch over. I _need_ to hear this." He waved a hand at Sam, who was about to protest. "They're like the only ones in here. It's not busy. Take this as my break."

"Well, _I_ don't need to hear this. I'll be in the kitchen. Forever. Just point any strays toward the counter." Sam marched off, grumbling about "Stark" and "Why didn't we just use pigeons?"

Steve and the others looked at the inventor with anticipation, munching their fries and burgers like moviegoers. Tony chuckled before starting, "Well, once upon a time…"

* * *

In the middle of the diner, a businessman, a businesswoman, and a… man with a penchant for leather were having a hushed, yet subtle, discussion.

"What do you think, sir?" the businessman asked.

"They're not the usual, I can say that much."

"Just give them time, sir. They'll prove themselves," the businesswoman said.

"Okay, Coulson, Hill. They're your recruits. I'll give you three months before you have to find a new batch."

They each in turn glanced over the raucous group. A waiter, security guard, barista, PR manager, scientist, and genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist-recently-out-of-a-coma-and-acting-completely-reformed. Hm. Yes, they had quite a lot to prove if they were to join the initiative.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Look, major plot points! :)

* * *

Tony stared at the flickering black line. He looked down at the keyboard (he loathed it, but it was easier for his current purpose). He cast a sideways glance at the half-finished suit, arc reactor, and particle accelerator. At least the science in his dreams wasn't impossible. He'd revolutionize the energy industry and world of science. Again. Or, more accurately, for the first time. For everyone else. Not for Tony. Oh wow, this was getting confusing.

"Sir? You have an incoming call from Ms. Romanoff." _Oh right. Crap. _Tony thought Natasha's definition of "later" might be different from his. Hers actually meaning at a subsequent point of time, his usually meaning _never_.

"Tell her I'll call back later."

"Yes, sir."

Tony looked back at his computer screen. _He awoke from a dream into a nightmare_. Tony quickly pressed the 'backspace' key. Accurate, but corny. Plus, he needed to rant about four made-up years, not his current situation. He shut the laptop and opened a hologram. He started a simple sketch and a small caption. _It all started in a desert cave…_

"Sir? Ms. Romanoff insists on talking to you."

"What does she want?" Tony had pieced together what had actually happened and what was just the stuff of nightmares. He resisted slashing the quick sketch of his captor. He needed to do this. He needed to tell someone, something, about that nightmare in the Middle East and subsequent crazy dream world.

"She says it's an emergency. There was an incident in the company labs."

Tony's hand froze. "Which lab?"

There was a crackle of static as Jarvis's voice fizzled away and Natasha's came on. "It's Bruce. He-" Tony didn't hear the rest. He was already out the door, hand repulsors clenched in his fist.

* * *

Tony thanked urban developers for creating fire escapes. Sure, he's never actually used them to escape fires, but they sure were handy for escaping from or sneaking into buildings. Apparently, whatever happened in the lab was major. SWAT, FBI, CIA, and a whole bunch of other uppercase letters major. (Personally, Tony like SHIELD. It was a much more clever acronym.)

He tried entering through the entrance. He did, honestly. But those well-dressed, mysterious officials kept telling him to "stand back." It was his damn company, why couldn't he go in?

As he approached the lab area, a thunderous roar echoed down the corridor. _Oh. That's why_. Tony started up the repulsors. There was increasingly more chaos as he approached Bruce's lab. It started with scattered reports and papers, as if an intern or two had suddenly dropped everything and skedaddled. Then there were fallen lights and ceiling tiles. Tony skirted around the sparking fixtures, concern pushing itself up his throat. The fallen walls and splintered doors stopped him completely.

"Bruce?" Tony whispered. It was ridiculous to do so, but shouting might have attracted…

The ceiling rumbled, like there was about to be an indoor thunderstorm. Whatever lights had survived fizzled with a hiss and flickered out. The only light and sound came from Tony's hands and breath.

_It can't be. No, no, that was all just in the dream. It was a freakin' coma-induced hallucination. Maybe he hadn't woken up. Or maybe… no, Tony, now is _not _the time to have a Socratic debate with yourself about life_.

There was a breeze in the still air, hot and heavy, brushing against Tony's face. _Okay, no 'oh my god he's right behind me' movie cliche. That's good. I think_.

He directed a repulsor towards the source of the breeze. Wow. Tony had never (quite literally, now that he thought about it) seen the Hulk up this close. This was Jolly Green in all his glory.

The Hulk snarled at the light but didn't move. There was flicker of recognition, of hesitation. Maybe Bruce had more control than Tony thought.

"Bruce?"

The snarl deepened and the Hulk began to shift.

"Okay, Big Green. I know you're not the personification of relaxation, but just...just sit down." Tony motioned downwards and proceeded to sit himself.

While the Hulk cocked his head, the snarl left his face and he sat on the floor with a _thud_ that sent Tony a few inches into the air.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Tony asked, "Did they hurt you?" The Hulk shook his head. "Did they _try_ to hurt you?" The Hulk nodded. Tony frowned. Here he was, having a conversation with the giant green rage monster that everyone outside was debating six different ways to blow to Sunday. "How?"

The Hulk arranged his hand into the simple shape of a gun, as if he was going to play a round of cops and robbers. He made a series of "pew pew" noises that would have been adorable if not for the grate of his voice.

"You know, Big Green, if we're going to get out of here, you're going to have to let Bruce out?" The Hulk grimaced (or, at least, Tony thought he grimaced. His whole face was kind of a grimace).

"Banner weak."

Tony shook his head. "He's not that weak. And he won't get shot at."

"Banner easier to kill."

"They won't kill him." _I think. Holy crap, I think he's onto something_. "Okay, I admit you have a point there. But Banner's easier to get out of here, to hide. You're kind of a big target, Big Green."

Hulk nodded. "When come back?"

"Soon, Big Green, soon."

"Tony nice to Banner. Tony nice to Big Green. Big Green nice to Tony." The green of the Hulk began to fade and his mass began to shrink. A shivering, confused, and naked Bruce Banner was left staring at him.

"Tony?"

* * *

Before Bruce could start asking questions and panicking, Tony got tough and politely told him to shut up until they got to his house. Tony wasn't sure how he got a stark naked Bruce Banner out the building, past the variety of government officials, and into his car and halfway home, but he thanked whatever beings were out there, Asgardian, alien, or not, that he did.

"I know you told me to shut up, but what the _hell_ just happened?" There was a rage simmering beneath Bruce's skin and his eyes glowed a dangerous green.

"Well, from the video and audio feeds that Jarvis has been analyzing, you were exposed to an insane amount of gamma radiation, just at the peak of your experiment, and due to the stress both on your mind and body, you, um, 'hulked' out."

The green drained from Bruce. "Oh, shit."

"Fortunately, you were alone. So you just made a big mess really. No one dared to stay on the same floor."

Tony heard the scientist continue swearing. "We'll figure it out, Bruce. The Big Guy actually likes me, so I'll be okay."

"...The Big Guy?"

"Yeah. Ol' Jolly Green. How is he, by the way?"

Bruce sat back in his seat, torn between loathing his situation or just going with it and allowing it to pique his curiosity. "He's pretty quiet. Kept mumbling about me being scrawny, but he seems to trust your judgement."

"Good." Tony pulled into the empty driveway. Thank god he sent Pepper (and Happy, as her chauffeur) to New York to see about that new Stark Industries site. Rhodey was on back on base floundering over the whole "Stark Industries no longer manufactures weapons" situation. Obadiah… well, Tony had set Jarvis to alert him if Obadiah was on the property.

"Well, we're here. Jarvis can lead you to the living room or kitchen or bathroom or wherever. I'll get you some clothes." _I should probably make a note to make him some stretchy pants._

* * *

Tony found Bruce in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and browsing the internet on mediation techniques. He slid the clothes he had scrounged for not covered in grease and oil to the scientist.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Jarv show you how to browse the internet?"

"Yup. It's just a bit strange, waving my hand around in the air."

Tony shrugged. "You get used to it." After a few moments of silence (and Bruce shoving on the clothes), Tony said, "You know, all those government officials will be looking for you."

"I know."

"And they know you're my friend."

"Yup."

"Fortunately for you, I happen to be a very good friend with plenty of resources."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I was going to suggest that I needed to get out of the country, maybe find some people to help me with my… anger issues. But, since you're offering…"

"No problem, Brucie." Tony smiled.

"Thanks, Tony."

* * *

"No, Agent Coulson, I haven't seen Dr. Banner since last night."

Coulson looked over his sunglasses at the inventor, hair mussed from sleep (or working through the night getting Bruce out of the country, finishing the Mark II, blasting random objects, flying, falling, fixing the damn icing problem, and flying again). The agent decided not to mention the Stark plane that departed last night, the record of its flight, both departure and arrival location, nonexistent. He also did not mention the "accidently" destroyed security feeds and jammed receivers and computers of every government official even remotely linked to the Banner case. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stark. We'll be in touch, if we have anymore questions."

Tony closed the door, sighing in relief. Lying to government officials was easier than he remembered.

Tony vaguely listened to an ongoing newscast that Jarvis was playing."...Obadiah Stane has stated that Tony Stark is not in condition to attend tonight's gala charity event…"

"Jarv? Are my suits ready?"

"If you are referring to your formal suit and the Mark II, they are both in prime condition. The former is pressed and in your closet. The latter is fully charged and operational. Though I do suggest you take another flight test. Weather conditions are optimal."

Tony grinned. He had the best AI butler _ever_.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Sorry it's a tad short. But here's the update. On time. :) A bunch of dialogue was taken/adapted from the movie. Thank you all for supporting this fic and see you next week (or maybe, possibly, don't get your hopes up too high, sooner)!

* * *

"...And it looks like Tony Stark was able to come to tonight's charity event. Look out ladies, he's looking fresh and ready to tackle the world. Speaking of which…"

Tony scanned the crowd, ignoring the questions and camera flashes. _Where is… oh. Wow_. Tony spotted Pepper on the fringes of the hubbub, a bright spot of blue in the sea of black, greys, and muted colors. The dress is familiar but different. Maybe it was the lighting, or the hem, or the cloth, or _something_ but Tony felt a strange sort of relief that it didn't exactly match up with the dream's. He strode over to his PA, mumbling, "Nice dress," into her ear as he casually placed his arm around her waist and turned toward the group she was talking to. "Hello there, how are you ladies and gentlemen this evening?"

Between the polite titters and small talk they were having with the potential SI clients, Pepper hissed through clenched teeth at her boss and he quietly replied back.

"I thought you hated these things."

"Yes, but I just got out of a coma, Pep-"

"Exactly."

"-Can't a guy just go to his own gala charity event and dance with his assistant without everyone making a fuss?"

"Not a guy who- wait, dance? Tony-"

Tony flashed a smile at the new SI clients. "If you'll excuse us, I'd like to guide Ms. Potts to the dance floor." They smiled and nodded, gesturing towards a more empty area that just happened to lead to the patio. With all the grace he could muster (which was quite a lot considering being raised and living in a high class society), Tony led Pepper outside as she kept grumbling about "No deodorant" and "Always dance with my boss in a room with my colleagues."

"If you're feeling edgy about dancing with your boss, I could always fire you."

Pepper laughed. God, he missed that. "I don't think you could tie your shoes without me."

He pretended to ponder the thought. "I think I'd make it a week." His grin grew wider as she smirked.

"A week, really? What's your social security number?"

_Shit_. "Five…"

"'Five?' You're missing just a couple of digits."

"Right. The other eight." He looked at her eyes which never changed, not in his dreams, in his thoughts, in reality, _never_. "Well, I have you for the other eight." He felt himself lean in closer. Maybe, just maybe, he'd do it right this time, maybe the coma was the first try and here was the second, maybe, maybe…

He felt Pepper's breath stutter and pulled back. "Sorry. That was totally weird."

Pepper stepped out of his embrace. "Tony, we can't just, I mean, people are watching."

"Pep, it was just a dance."

"No, it was not just a dance. But you don't understand that because you're you and everybody knows exactly who you are and how you are with girls and all of that, which is completely fine." Tony tensed at the sting of her words, his past. "But, you know, there's me and this ridiculous dress, and you're my boss and I just don't think people see it as just…" She took a step back. "Just, I would like a drink, please."

Tony nodded stiffly. "Right. Got it. Vodka martini?" At least he remembered her preferred poison.

Pepper nodded, still trying to catch her breath. As he retreated back to the light mumbling about his stupidity, she added, "Very dry with olives. Like a lot of olives. Like, at least, three olives."

After placing the order, adding another martini because oh my god, he needed some alcohol right now, a rather familiar, rather irritating reporter approached him.

"Wow, Tony Stark." She just oozed sarcasm and irritability.

"Oh, hey." _Do not get pulled, Stark. Do not get pulled in…_

"Fancy seeing you here."

_Don't be a snob about how it's your event. Just get out and away as quickly as possible_. "Christine."

She actually looked surprised before settling back into her usual air of distaste. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight. Can I at least get a reaction?"

"Shock, mostly. I had no idea-"

"Is that what you call accountability?" She shoved a stack of photos into his hands. He flipped through them, a chill settling throughout his body. Dammit. His weapons. Still wreaking destruction. He should have known, done something about it, about _Stane_. "It's a town called Gulmira. Heard of it?" He gave the photos back to Christine, grabbed Pepper's martini, and walked away.

"Stark? Stark! You'll have to answer my questions at some point!"

Tony handed the glass to a wilting Pepper. She nodded her thanks and opened her mouth to say something but he interrupted, "Hey Pep, I got to go. Maybe you were right, maybe I shouldn't be going out…" He held his head, because that's what ailing people do, right? Concern flashed across Pepper's face. "I'll be fine. Happy'll bring me home. I just need an Advil and some time on the couch." Was he crazy enough to see her eyes narrow ever so slightly in suspicion? "Seriously, just… just enjoy yourself. See you later." Tony walked away and out of the building. He spotted Obadiah smiling and talking to the camera flashes. Should he… nah. He already had Natasha discreetly checking though Obadiah's files. He didn't need to confront him about what he already knew.

"Mr. Stark!"

_What now?_ He swiveled around, ready to chomp the head off the next reporter who asked him a question. Oh, wait, it was that guy that asked him about Bruce and the one Pepper was talking about, the one from the press conference. What was his name?

The man held out a hand as he slowed and approached the billionaire. "Agent Coulson of-"

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Yeah, I remember you."

Coulson slightly raised an eyebrow before saying, "We're called SHIELD, for short. Anyway, we need to debrief you about the event in Afghanistan. How about the 24th, 7:00 pm, Stark Industries?"

Tony eyed the set of T.V.'s in the storefront behind Coulson, all blaring headlines about Gulmira. "Tell you what. You got it. You're absolutely right. Just head on inside and make the date with Ms. Potts." He gestured behind him, taking a step towards the storefront as Coulson walked away, occasionally turning to see the man he'd heard so much crap about. He shrugged as he entered the building. Guy wasn't _that_ bad.

"...The fifteen mile hike to the outskirts of Gulmira can only be described as a descent into hell…" Tony clenched his fists. He had a suit to change into.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update... school's started... But updates will come at the latest every other week.

Note: Everyone has a potty mouth in the chapter.

* * *

The Atlantic was stormy, but nothing in comparison to Tony Stark's mood. _Damn Stane, damn weapons, damndamndamn…_ A light bolt cracked near him. _Damn lightning_.

He barely paid attention to the ground below him. Jarvis had planned a path that would avoid the most people and be the least dangerous. His newly designed arc reactor within the suit could have gotten him over the Pacific, but Jarvis still seemed a bit antsy about that. Tony clucked at himself when he thought about it. He was such a sucker.

"Sir? We'll be travelling over land soon. Would you like to rest?"

_How the hell did I program a _caring _AI butler? _"No, Jarv. This'll be quick. Just add a bit more to the thrusters." There was a beat of hesitation. "Jarvis?"

"Sir, are you sure about this? You can still turn back."

He could turn back. Scrap the suit. Focus on the energy crisis and philanthropy. Not so subtly fire and bring down Stane. Hang out with his friends. _Friends._ Tony Stark had _friends_. He looked down at the ocean, the climbing, nearing shore. He soon saw a peppering of people, culminating into villages, towns, cities. He could still turn back.

_Don't waste your life_.

Yinsen taught him to care.

_Don't waste it_.

He taught him that, sometimes, caring just doesn't do it.

_Don't_.

Because those sonsofbitches out there don't give a shit.

_Don't_.

Yinsen had lit the fire.

_Don't waste your life_.

And Tony would be damned if he wouldn't _burn_.

* * *

He didn't speak. There weren't words for his rage, his frustration, his god given _fury_. If his life was a movie, he decided, then this scene would look so calculated and badass.

It definitely wasn't.

It was anger. It was desire. Desire to destroy, to free, to control. It was quick wit and split-second decisions. It was eliminating bugs. At another time, he might've laughed. They really didn't know what they were up against as they kept shooting at him, bullets ricocheting and killing them or their fellow insects. He barely wasted any ammo.

As Tony held the leader in his hand, watching him dangle and write like a displaced worm between a child's fingers, he contemplated just finishing this the easy way. But he was human. He was flawed. He had a flair for the dramatic. He dropped the man into the crowd of villagers and simply said, "He's all yours."

* * *

_Why did the military have the shoot first, ask later?_ Tony thought as he clung to the jet trying to throw him off like a kid throws off an ant. Seriously, they could be having a nice chat over scones or whatever about this instead of him about to plummet from the sky in an indeterminate number of pieces. He needed help.

"Hi, Rhodey. It's me."

"It's who?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. It is _me_. You asked. What you're asking about, it's me."

Tony could just imagine Rhodey's disappointed/annoyed/I-totally-saw-this-coming face. At any, literally _any_, other point in time, it would've been hilarious. "No, you see, this isn't a game. You do not send civilian equipment into my active war zone! You understand that?"

_Dammitdammitdammit…_ "No, Rhodey, it's _me_. It's not a piece of equipment! I'm in it! It's a suit; it's me!"

Tony didn't even hear Rhodey's sequence of curses and commands as he struggled to regain control. He hovered in the air before plummeting after the falling plane. _Goddammit, where's your chute?_

"Goddammit, where's his chute?" Rhodey mumbled as he watched the man fall faster and faster.

"I- I can't- my chute! I'm stuck!" Rhodey resisted plugging his ears. _C'mon, Tony. C'mon…_ He cringed slightly as he watched his best friend tear out the man's parachute, sending him flying, the cloth releasing him into safety.

"Colonel Rhodes?" Amongst the cheers, one of his men pointed to Tony flying away. "What about that?"

"I think it deserves a bit of relief, don't you?" The man smiled and rejoined his cheering colleagues. Rhodey took out his phone.

With a breathy chuckle he said, "Oh my god, you crazy son of a bitch! You owe me a plane, you know that, right?"

Tony replied with the same amount of breathlessness and amusement, "Yeah, well, technically, he hit me first, so…"

* * *

Surprisingly, the hardest part about the Iron Man suit was figuring out how to take it off.

"Jarv, maybe if you started over… Hey, whoa!"

"Sir, the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt."

"Be gentle. This is my first time." If Jarvis had eyes to roll, Tony was pretty sure he was doing it now. He could practically _hear_ it. Or maybe that was just the ringing in his ears.

"C'mon Jarv. I designed this to come off, so…" _Shit_.

"Hey." Pepper stared at him. "Um, well… Jarv-" He glared at the mechanical arms. "I really should be able to…"

"Please, try not to move, sir."

"What's going on here?" Pepper gestured toward the giant mess that was Tony and Jarvis trying to take off the suit, Dummy inching forward with a fire extinguisher.

He looked at her with a strained smile. "Let's face it. This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

She didn't even seem to hear him. "Are those… bullet holes?"

"Um, well, see, I can explain, kind of, sort of, ow! Watch it, Jarvis." Tony ignored Pepper's flinch.

"Sir, I told you to stay still."

Pepper walked forward, shakily, but still forward. Tony felt distinctly happy at that. "Are you that- that thing? The one that was in- in- what was it called…"

"Gulmira?" Tony supplied.

Pepper snapped her fingers and pointed at Tony accusingly. "You are, goddammit Tony, you could have gotten yourself killed, you could be lying in a pit or in the ocean or in the middle of some random country without any form of ID and be shot and-"

"Pepper."

"-and we'd all be wondering where the hell you went, except we would have no clue, because why? Because Tony Stark decided to fly out to the middle of a war zone-"

"Pepper."

"-without even telling his _military_ friend for god's sake and oh my god, you owe the U.S. military a new plane don't you, training accident my ass-"

"Pepper!"

She stopped, choosing to glare at the inventor instead. But before Tony could speak, she said, "I quit."

Tony looked at her, but Pepper was surprisingly on the ball. "I cannot assist you if you are going to go and get yourself killed. No, I'll help you with _anything_ except that."

If Tony Stark had any constant in his reality, it was Pepper Potts. Honest, straight-up, unwavering, faithful, caring Pepper Potts. He was tainting her, really. Maybe he should let her quit. But then where was his constant?

"Pep," he said. "Stane's been double-dealing while I've been out getting drunk. When I woke up from that coma, I _woke_ _up_. I should've died out there, Pep." She stared at him. Tony wished Jarvis would hurry up and get the damn suit off already.

"I didn't have anything before, Pep. I had my drink and my ego. Now I have something, I _know_ I have something Pep. I have a purpose. I have a mission. So now that I'm trying to help people, trying to create and save rather than kill and destroy, you're going to quit on me?"

The last piece of the suit clicked against the metal arm Jarvis was controlling. He stepped down in front of his PA, his constant, his Pepper. She took a shaky breath and tried a smile.

"What can I do, Mr. Stark?"

* * *

"Rough night?" Sam slid a chocolate shake over to Tony.

"Like you wouldn't believe." Tony didn't even bother with the straw, chugging the sweet liquid rapidly.

Sam chuckled. "There's a lot of things I could believe, coming from you, Stark."

Tony granted him a weary smile. "Not this one."

Before Sam could ask, the bell above the door jingled, signalling a new customer. "Barnes?" Sam rushed around the counter. Tony turned to see a dishevelled man, hair long, ratty coat even though it was a hot, humid night. He opened his arms to the incoming man.

Sam didn't take the embrace. He looked rather restrained, in fact. "Where the hell have you been, man?"

The man, Barnes, rubbed the back of his head. _So not helping the hair situation_.

"Around. Not far. I needed some space, Sam." Sam shoved Barnes.

"You always need space, bastard. Do you know what you leavin' has been doing to Steve?" Both Tony and the man's head shot up at the name of the waiter.

"Where's Steve?" Barnes looked towards the back of the diner, towards the kitchen. Sam shrugged.

"Around. Not far."

* * *

"It's going to pinch," Dr. Erskine told Steve Rogers as he was strapped down. "Well, more than pinch."

Steve resisted struggling against the restraints. It was for his fellow men. To help them be stronger. To help them both in and out of the field. "I'll be fine, doc."

The doctor put a hand on Steve's forehead. "I'm sure you'll be, son. I'm sure." He walked away and exited, standing behind the glass of the observation window. He turned towards the technician and said a few things, made a few gestures.

Steve couldn't help but scream. Scream for pain, for his body being crushed and rearranged, for them to _keep going, don't stop, I can do this_.

Steve would've fainted afterwards, but his new body just wanted to go out for a run.

* * *

**Another A/N: **I've got evil plot bunnies. Like stories that branch off this one. Like sequels (Thor-Loki-Asgard-centric) and prequels (Cap-movies-centric, Hawkeye-centric, Widow-centric... it's all just beginning). So stay tuned. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Sorry this is late. So sorry. Really, I don't want to keep giving excuses. Still trying to stay on schedule. On the bright side, it's longer than usual. :) Thanks again for all the support and reviews!

* * *

"Coulson, report."

"Banner has been located but his stability is still at risk. It is recommended we do not go in for retrieval yet. The Odinsons are still unaware of their situation. Barton is verging on becoming a vigilante. Again. Sir, we really need to something about that man-"

"Hill?"

"Stark has been relatively quiet since Gulmira. Understandably, of course. Romanoff's whereabouts and actions are, at the very least, sketchy, but nonthreatening. Rogers, on the other hand…"

"Spit it out, Hill."

"Rogers may have been compromised."

* * *

Steve was running. He could _run_. He was running barefoot in New York chasing after the guy who shot his, his, creator? He would have jumped into the water, but his lungs were still new and fresh and just wanted to _breathebreathebreathe_ and he was still scared to dive in deep waters and have that breath stolen away, to have his lungs scream and cry and him struggling to the surface and still not able to _breathe_. He may be big and strong but he was still that kid from Brooklyn. The one who tried not to cry when his mother died. The one who got into scraps against kids who were bigger than him, outnumbered him. The one whose best friend pulled him out of those fights, the friend who was missing, was found, missing again, wouldn't talk.

Steve wondered if this is how a normal body was supposed to feel, when you're high on air and your muscles are more than capable of supporting you. Did their minds race like his? Or was it just the adrenaline? Steve didn't know. When the man jumped in the water, he didn't know what to do next. He didn't want to go back, not without Erskine. Erskine was smart, he didn't trust the serum to the feds. If Erskine didn't trust them, Steve wouldn't. He'd do his research. He'd lie low.

He'd run.

* * *

"How's it going, Pepper?" Natasha glanced at her watch and down the hall again. She couldn't be caught _in_ Stane's office. He didn't trust her; she didn't trust him; it'd be suspicious. She leaned on the door, appearing to be bored and waiting for an appointment (which just so happened to appear on Stane's electronic calendar).

"Oh my god, Nat-" Pepper's panicked voice crackled in her ear.

"Is it done?" She cut off the other woman. They didn't have time for this.

"Almost…"

A steady stream of footsteps thundered down the empty hall. "Well, either make up a story or make the computer download faster because Stane's coming." Natasha rounded the corner of the hallway, keeping the office in her line of sight. She watched him enter and heard the scared thumping of a heart. Pepper's? No, hers.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt fear. It was so irrational, especially now. She wasn't the one in danger. She barely knew Tony Stark and his PA, Pepper Potts. Barely anything that wasn't on file, anyway. Maybe she was just out of practice. Maybe she was weak. Or maybe, just maybe (_damn you, Stark_) she cared.

He hit on her the first, the third, the three-hundredth (_no, he would _never _go to public relations meetings, forced or not, that frequently_) time he saw her. Ogling, handing out his best lines, lines that made most other women swoon, or at the very least, blush (if not flattered, then at least indignant).

Natasha Romanoff was not most women. And contrary to belief, she did not, at those points in time, hate Tony Stark. She was indifferent towards him. She didn't rage or seethe. She cast him cool glances and words because Stark was a genius but couldn't be bothered with any other affairs, life, and thoughts that didn't strictly deal with engineering. She dealt with him because she had to. Because it was her job. (_Because it was better than her past._)

The Tony Stark that had walked into her office the other day was different. Like the man he could've been all these years if he wasn't bogged down by his insecurities, his drink, the vicious media. And when he pulled her away from Stane and into the homey dive, she knew. Knew where her loyalty lay. Drinking a milkshake and talking with people who would become more than strangers she was sharing a table with revealed her loyalties.

She didn't know quite why, but her loyalties laid with them.

She heard the quick clicks of Pepper's heels and followed, ignoring the glares of Obadiah Stane. Pepper looked worried and was going as fast as she could without raising suspicion. Before she could ask, Pepper pointed out a man, hair thinning and wearing a black suit. "That's Phil Coulson. He's an agent of something called SHIELD. Let's walk with him." She waved at the man. "Hey, Agent Coulson!" He looked up.

"Do you want to schedule that meeting, Ms. Potts?" Meeting? Oh right, the meeting Pepper told him she would book after referring to Tony's schedule. The thing she never got around to. Right.

"Yeah, sure. Right now."

"So what time would…"

"No, meeting starts right now. Come with me."

Natasha noticed his slight surprise and hesitation, noted the grace with which he followed the two rushing women. She wondered at the smile that reached his eyes.

"Okay, Ms. Potts." _And I thought Tony Stark was impulsive_.

* * *

Tony fell off his couch when he heard a buzz, like a buzzer, like someone was actually trying to communicate with him in person, knew where he lived, but didn't know about Jarvis. He rubbed at his sleep-deprived eyes and yelled, "Jarvis? What time is it and who keeps making that incessant noise?"

"It is around six in the evening and I believe it is Mr. Rogers ringing the doorbell."

"Believe? What are you talking about Jarv? Either he is or he isn't and I gave you the files of people you can buzz in."

"Exactly, sir. He resembles Mr. Rogers in almost all ways, such as speech and hair color, but for a few things…"

"Jarv?"

"Just go look for yourself, sir. The door is armed and prepared to shoot anyway." Tony shrugged. _Can't argue with that logic. Besides, I made it myself._

Tony trudged towards the door, shouting, "I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your damn horses!" The buzzing slowed until it came to a stop. _Praise the forces that be_. Tony needed coffee.

He opened to door and was greeted by the live-giving scent of what he craved. He grabbed the source of the smell and chugged, ignoring the burn because giving up alcohol was hard and oh god how he needed some coffee. He noticed the empty hands and was about to apologize for chugging their coffee when he did a double take. The hands were large. And a good several inches from where they were placed just the other day. He looked up, _up_, at the sheepish face of a very familiar, very different Steven Grant Rogers.

"I thought you lived here," the now-much-bigger Steve said.

"And I thought you were smaller," Tony said, allowing the man inside, eyes still wide and still having that weird, floaty, _holy-hell-I'm-dreaming-aren't-I_ feeling that may or may not have to do with his lack of sleep and sudden rush of caffeine. He looked out into his driveway. Empty. He closed the door and went into the kitchen.

"Don't you live on the far side of town?" he called into the living room, where Steve had perched on the edge of a couch.

"Yup."

"There aren't any nearby public transportation stops." He poured a cup of coffee for the waiter, black like the cup he had chugged down, trying to maintain a calm tone.

"That's true."

Tony strode over to the stiff man and handed him the mug. "So how the hell did you get here?" Steve sipped at his coffee, purposefully putting off his answer. "Steve?"

"I ran."

Tony dropped into the seat next to him. Damn, the guy was like a rock, Tony noted as Steve remained the absolute picture of poise and balance, sipping at his coffee. "So… what the hell happened?"

"Government experiment. Main scientist shot. I don't trust them. So I came to you."

_That was blunt_. "If you don't trust them, then why did you go through with the experiment?"

"Well, I only trusted the main scientist, Dr. Erskine, who was told and thus told me that his serum could be used to improve the lives of thousands of people, including soldiers and veterans." He left the "like Bucky" out. He didn't know that Tony knew about Bucky.

"He didn't know that a group called Hydra was looking for him, for the serum, to use it for some sort of world-dominating scheme. He didn't know that the feds were planning on only using it on a select group of soldiers, veterans and other soldiers, other people, be damned." Steve's voice lowered to a whisper. "We both thought we were doing something great. Now he's dead and I just ran away."

Tony rubbed the now broad shoulder of Steve. "Hey, we'll figure this out. In fact, I know a guy. His name's Agent. Agent Coulson of SHIELD. He's seems nice enough. And is part of an organization sketchy enough to help you with this."

A smile tugged at Steve's lips. "His name's Agent?"

"Yeah. Agent Coulson. I think Pepper gave me his card. I think she put up on the fridge. You wanna check?" He pointed towards a doorway. "Just through there and to the right. Help yourself to whatever's in there. I think you deserve it after that marathon you ran." Steve gently elbowed him before following his directions. Before he left Tony's line of sight, however, he turned around and said, "Thanks, Tony."

Tony smiled. He lay his head back against the sofa, caffeine preventing him from sleep and he might have wished he was less impulsive at that moment because his eyes were just screaming for some rest. The doorbell buzzed again.

"Urgh, who is it now, Jarv?"

"Mr. Stane, sir." Tony's eyes shot wide open. He couldn't let him in. No, last time he did that, wait, no, Tony, that was the dream. Tony shook his head. Dream or not be damned, he did not want to answer that door.

"Tony? You expecting someone?" Steve called from the kitchen.

"No, not exactly."

"You want me to get it?"

"No!" Tony fought down the surge of panic. Steve couldn't open that door. It was Stane. Stane would hurt him.

Steve looked at him inquisitively from the doorway, mouth full of a peanut butter sandwich. "I mean, you're the guest, Steve. I'll get it."

Tony walked towards the door. _Please be different from last time. Pleasepleaseplease…_

He opened the door and it was different. He wasn't even on the couch.

His eyes rolled over to watch Steve fall to the ground, not in paralysis but in pain. He was too strong for the sound, too strong to be paralyzed from it, but he was still weak enough to feel the pain, the bone-shattering pain. His view tumbled as Stane rolled him over to the side of the hallway.

"Wasn't expecting anyone but you, Tony. But I guess, now I have leverage." He brought the paralyzing device closer to Steve's head. Steve writhed in the pain, body flailing as it failed to find an escape from the stimulus. "Now, I know it hurts, Tony, but just roll those pretty eyes in the direction of your little arc reactor, I know you have one, you would've wanted to tinker with it some more since Afghanistan." Tony forced his eyes in the direction of the kitchen. He'd been playing with it before he fell asleep on the couch, clutched it while he answered the door to Steve, set it down next to the coffee maker when he went to get Steve a mug.

Stane turned off the device. Steve was still. Tony wished he could move.

Stane hovered over Tony, holding the arc reactor, glowing pretty shade of blue in his hand. "So much power," he whispered. "In such a little container. Like bottled lightning." He grinned down at Tony. "You captured lightning, Tony."

* * *

Loki ignored the worried shouts of his mother as he stormed out of the house. His heart shook with the thunder that rumbled above his head and the guilt he felt at leaving his mother like that. They had argued again, about something he couldn't quite remember. Probably the usual. His father had probably started it. It probably revolved around Thor. Always Thor. The golden son. And he was second. Silver.

"Loki!" _Even _think _of the devil_…

Thor ran towards his brother. "What?" He kept walking.

Thor caught up, the honesty and earnestness just pouring off him in waves and Loki thought it would make him puke. "Father didn't mean it. He- he doesn't think of what he says." He reached out to the raven-haired teen.

Loki spun and snarled at Thor, seeing red and black instead of gold and lightning blue. "Doesn't think of what he says? Doesn't that mean that what he's saying _is_ what he means? That you're first-born and best and _theirs_-" He didn't notice the way his and Thor's hair began to float upwards, strand by strand, like the physics demonstration with the balloon. "And I'm second, a delinquent, picked off the street. That I'm the charity case and I should be grateful?" _You little sonofabitch, come back here, I said. _"Grateful that I get to live in shadows and dust and never know what it's like to be just like Thor, the golden boy, oh Loki why can't you be more like your _brother_?" He choked on the last word. It was starting to rain.

"Brother?" he continued. "You're no brother of mine. And I am proud to say that I am no Odinson." The thunder rumbled again and the stray wonder of where lightning was passed through his mind.

"Loki…" Thor reached out towards him again. _Pathetic fool, having no use of words_. Loki slapped his hand away.

There was a flash of blue, a spinning into galaxies, into starry oblivion, and then, nothing.


End file.
